


tonight we die; but tomorrow she says we rise

by AceSailorKoshkaRayn



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Existential Journey, Gen, Mind-Scape Journey, Tony Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6703969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceSailorKoshkaRayn/pseuds/AceSailorKoshkaRayn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>there is a...98% chance that I am definitely dead.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>hm.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>okay, how do I feel about this…? </i>
</p><p>
  <i>well, to be perfectly honest...it’s probably about fucking time someone put me out of everyone else’s misery.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I hear hell’s great this time of year- no, not that funny, fine.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>there’s a reason I’m not ‘the funny one.’</i>
</p><p>I asked <i>thegoldenavenger</i> for their favorite form of Tony Angst -this is what came out:</p><p> </p><p>  <b>‘my particular favorite brand of angst is always gonna be “Tony gets trapped in his subconscious and the only way to save/wake him is to have [insert character/s] enter his hellscape of a mind and wallow in all the pain Tony has accumulated, survived through and/or tried to ignore’</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_ there is a...98% chance that I am definitely dead. _

_ hm. _

_ okay, how do I feel about this…? _

_ well, to be perfectly honest...it’s probably about fucking time someone put me out of everyone else’s misery. _

_ I hear hell’s  _ great _ this time of year- no, not that funny, fine. _

_ there’s a reason I’m not ‘the funny one.’ _

~/\~

“...Where in the fuck…?”

“...Nat?”

Natasha spun, slipping in the silk-slick sand. “Barton?”

“Nat!” the man heaved an audible sigh of relief, sliding down the dune towards her. “Where the fuck are we? I haven’t been to the desert in...well, years, actually, I think.”

“You are useless in this sort of heat,” she agreed, turning in a slow circle. “What was the last thing you remember?”

“Uh,” Clint frowned, scratching the back of his head. “To be honest, Stark’s shiny metal ass when he shielded me from that magic-blast thing.”

“...Right,” she nodded, frowning at the completely unremarkable patch of desert they were stuck in. The sky was an equally featureless blue haze, seemingly without any distinct source of light. “And I was right behind you…”

Clint turned, skidding slightly in the sand. “Where do you think we are? Alien planet?”

“...Maybe,” she shook her head, wiping the back of her hand across her brow. She was already sweaty in her suit, the tight fabric sticking unpleasantly to her skin. “At least we can breathe, there is that. And you’re no longer concussed, I assume?”

“Nah,” Clint rubbed the back of his head, hand swiping automatically over his ear. He paused, palm pressed flat to the side of his head. “Natasha…”

She turned to him, arching an eyebrow.

“I don’t have my hearing aids,” he told her seriously, a pensive frown on his face. “So unless I’ve been magicked that much, I somehow think we’re not on an alien planet. At least,” Clint shrugged, glancing down at the sand his feet were halfway covered in, “I don’t think we’re  _ just _ on an alien planet.”

“...Whatever the case may be,” Natasha said, glancing him over carefully. “We won’t get anything done just standing here. Also, I can already see you getting a sunburn. You up for a trek, Hawkeye?”

Groaning, Clint slumped. “Ugh, I  _ hate _ hand. I can already feel it in my asscrack, this is gonna  _ suck _ .”

“Stop whining, at least you have sunglasses,” Natasha retorted, sitting down on the dune to tug off her boots. She wiggled her toes, frowning at her white socks, before shimmying out of the rest of her heavy suit.

“...The fuck are you doing?” Clint squinted at her, eyebrows knit. He could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck, the heat seeming even more oppressive that it had just thirty seconds before.

“Attempting to stay cool,” Natasha said, as if it were obvious. “Honestly, Clint, it’s like you’ve never been to the desert before.”

“I also know you burn like a motherfucker,” Clint retorted, also as if it were obvious. “That snow-white skin is going to do you absolutely  _ no _ favors in this sun.”

She glowered at him, lips pursed, but glanced back down at her suit. “I really do not feel like losing a third of my body weight in sweat…” she mused. Natasha glanced down at her thin cotton leggings, then at her suit consideringly. In just a few moments, she had fashioned a sort of half-jacket with the looser legs of her jacket, hacked and mangled until the ‘sleeves’ only just covered her hands. “Ha!”

“...Okay then,” Clint bowed to her in deference, overly-dramatic as always. “Obviously you’re the smart one here, like always. Where are we going, then, oh genius one?”

“I don’t fucking,” Natasha shrugged, the sleeves slapping around her hands.

Clint bit back a snicker, sliding his sunglasses back up his nose. “Pick a direction, I guess.”

 

_ genius genius genius _

_ ugh _

_ well, what if I didn’t want to be a genius, anyone ever ask me that? _

_ nooooooooooo of course not, who  _ wouldn’t _ want to be a genius, especially if you’re a Stark _

_ every Stark is brilliant, whether a natural-born or not, fuck _

 

“Is that...a trashcan?” Clint squinted into the distance before them with one hand shading his eyes, frowning at the dark splotch perched on a dune some distance away.

Natasha gave him a dead-eyed look, unamused. “I do not know, Hawkass, I am unable to see that far away because  _ I _ am not ‘the best marksman in the world.’ Also, I am not wearing those oh-so-magical things called  _ sunglasses _ .”

He turned his frown on her, looking remarkably like a sad puppy, and Natasha groaned.

“Don’t look at me like that, you weenie,” Natasha shoved his shoulder, making him slip down the side of the dune. “Oops,” she remarked, watching him slide twenty feet on his ass, arms flailing. “Sorry!”

“Kiss my ass, Natasha!” Clint yelled back, turning to trudge back up the hill. The master assassin tripped over something sticking out of the sand, going down in a huff and quickly backsliding even farther than he had fallen originally.

“Aw,” Natasha mock-pouted, hands on her hips.

Sighing, Clint started the trek back up the dune, arms hanging limply. He glanced around for whatever he had tripped on, finally catching sight of the mouth of a clear-opaque bottle sticking out of the sand. Pulling it out, he stared at the bottle with something resembling confusion. The silver cap tumbled out to rest against the toe of his heavy boot.

“Clint?” Natasha called, after several moments of him doing nothing but stare at the bottle. “You alright?”

“I’m...fine,” Clint shook his head, drifting back towards Natasha. The bottle was still held tightly in one of his hands, knuckles white. “Look,” he held the thing out, frowning faintly.

Natasha looked down at the empty  _ Finlandia _ bottle and lifted a singular eyebrow. “Someone was drinking in the middle of the desert. Not the most brilliant of ideas-”

Clint’s frown deepened, and he physically pushed the bottle into her palm, closing her fingers around it.

She jerked her hand back, the bottle dropping to the sand between them with an unnaturally heavy clunk. “What the  _ fuck _ ,” Natasha stressed, “was  _ that _ ?”

“Evil genie,” Clint decided, kicking the vile-seeming bottle and watching it sail away down the dune.

“Bad juju,” Natasha agreed, shuddering. Her skin still felt like it was scrawling, even from that brief contact with the bottle, and a nauseating feeling of revulsion had settled deep into her gut. “Anyway…” she shook her head, nodding back towards the garbage can. “C’mon, you nerd. Let’s see what we can find.”

“...Yeah,” Clint nodded, shaking himself out and trailing after her along the top of the dune.

 

“That...looks like an office garbage can,” Natasha cocked her head at the bin, crossing her arms.

“Smells like…” Clint jerked back, rubbing at his nose. “Ugh, rotten strawberries, disgusting. What the fuck is this doing here?”

“I…” Natasha frowned at the paperwork also tossed into the bin, leaning closer and holding her breath. “Two thousand...eight, hey, I remember those. That’s the Magnussen offer Pepper had me toss cause it was so ridiculous… What the  _ fuck _ .”

“Have you noticed the truly ridiculous numbers of cups and shit in this desert?” Clint asked, nudging a tumbler out of the sand to roll away down the side of the dune.

“This is...not good,” Natasha turned in a circle, the oppressive air beating down on them a thousand times worse. “Clint, I really, really don’t think we’re on an alien planet.”

“...Aww, magic.”

 

_ “Listen here you little bastard-” _

_ oh, this is familiar _

_ “Stop- stop fucking crying, for fuck’s sake, Jesus Christ.” _

_ suppose it was a good thing I was homeschooled -that black eye took weeks to fade away _

_ “Stark men are made of iron,  _ iron _ , boy, don’t you fucking forget. Get out of here, brat, beat it.” _

 

“Fuck was that?” Clint spun in a circle, squinting up at the too-bright sky. “Stark? Tony!”

“Pretty sure he can’t hear us, if we are where I think we are,” Natasha told him stepping with forced casualness over the mess of yet another broken bottle.

“Care to share with the class?” Clint kicked the shards away down the hill, frowning deeply. “Cause if we’re in Tony’s, like, head or something, I will shoot something. This place is depressing as  _ fuck _ . Like, it’s so depressing my chest is starting to hurt.”

“Well,” Natasha grimaced, shrugging.

“Aw, man, no,” Clint whined, shoulders drooping. “Fuck, is this what Tony feels like  _ all _ the time?”

“...I don’t know,” Natasha told him, eyeing the dark lump a few low hillocks in front of them. “What is that?” she asked, pointing at the lump. She would have sworn it hadn’t been there just a little while ago…

“Looks like…” Clint’s eyebrows knit together, before flying up. “Kinda looks like a lumpy table…?” He cocked his head to the side, lifting a hand to shade his eyes. “Some sort of table-top model, maybe?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Natasha searched for the garbage can that had been behind them -it was nowhere to be seen.

 

“That’s the Stark Expo model,” Natasha remarked, tapping a fingernail against the scratched plexiglass top. “I remember this being in Pepper’s office when...when Tony was dying…”

“The people in it are moving,” Clint said, sounding thoroughly disturbed.

Leaning close, Natasha watched as hundreds of miniscule people raced around the diagram. Tiny explosions glimmered on the plexiglass, following an inch-long streak of blood red and pure gold.

“That’s the thing with, with the guy with the whips, I think,” Clint frowned, leaning close. He didn’t so much as flinch at the explosion right under his nose, though he stumbled back as soon as his fingertips made contact with the clear surface. Spinning, he fell to his knees, retching violently.

“Clint?” Natasha dashed over to him, hands hovering over his back. “Jesus, Clint, are you okay?”

“F-fine,” he rasped, coughing violently. Scrubbing a hand across his mouth, he fell back on his heels. “I uh, I think. Fuck, that was a trip…” Clint rubbed his knuckles against his chest, frowning.

“Bull-fucking-shit,” Natasha protested, turning his face to hers with only slightly trembling fingers. “You looked like you got, like, fucking electrocuted or something, shit, you’re pale as death.”

“It was, it was kinda like being in Tony’s head,” Clint raked a free hand through his hair, Natasha pulling off his sunglasses. “When I, when I touched the thing, y’know? Like I got a glimpse of what was going on in his head -and lemme tell you, it was  _ not _ pleasant.” He shuddered, hands falling into his lap. “It, there was,” he swallowed thickly, and rubbed the back of a hand across his cheek. “There was a lot of pain, y’know. A lot of, of  _ heart _ hurt.”

Natasha brushed the sand off his cheek, frowning intensely. “Physical pain, or neurological?”

“Fuck, I don’t even know,” Clint shook his head, groaning faintly. “Like, I think it’s only a mind thing, and obviously it’s only a mind thing for me, but it fucking  _ felt _ like an actual, like someone had socked me in the gut.” He pressed a hand to the center of his sternum, right over where Tony’s arc reactor would be. “I think we should...not touch anything else ever in this desert. Ever.”

“...Probably a good idea,” Natasha agreed, helping him to his feet. “C’mon, let’s get going. If this,” she jerked her head at the model, “is here, then there’s gotta be something bigger. I need to get out of the sun before I drop.”

Clint scoffed weakly, brushing the sand off his hands. “Are you kidding me? This place ain’t got nothing on India in fucking May.”

Natasha twitched. “ _ Please _ do not remind me…”

Clint nudged her shoulder, smirking faintly. “What was that taxi driver’s name again…?”

“Oh my fucking  _ god _ ,” Natasha shoved him back, smiling despite the weight pressing down against her lungs. “Why are we friends again? You’re a dick.”

 

_ shrieking _

_ what is, what is this, why- _

_ “Easy, easy, easy…” _

_ O-Obie? what, why’re you- _

_ “You remember this one, right? Shame the government didn’t approve; there’s so many applications for causing short-term paralysis.” _

_ wh-? don’t, what, Obie- _

_ “Ah, Tony… When I, ah, ordered that hit on you-” _

_ no oh god please no why _

_ “...I worried that I was...killing the golden goose.” _

_ what is that satan claw and what do you think you’re  _ doing

_ “But, you see, it was just-” _

_ burning oh god oh god stop please stop _

_ “...Fate...that you survived then. You had one last golden egg to give.” _

  1. _no what do you think you’re doing stop I need that_



_ god I did not miss the stench of burning fucking flesh _

_ “You really think, that just because you have an idea, it belongs to you?” _

_ m...me, of course, me, why, why is this always what happens _

_ “Your father -he helped give us the atomic bomb. Now what kinda world would it be today if he was as selfish as you, hm?” _

_ can never live up to anyone anything always a goddamn disappointment _

_ disappointment to the fucking grave _

_ shit- oh god I am going to die don’t touch _

_ “Ooh, it’s beautiful…” _

_ please _

_ “Oh, Tony...this is your ninth symphony. Ah, what a masterpiece; look at that. This is your legacy -a generation of weapons with this at its heart.” _

_ I am so fucking sorry, Pepper _

_ “Weapons that will help steer the world back on course. Put the balance of power in our hands -the right hands.” _

_ right hands right hands my fucking  _ ass

_ what have I  _ done

_ “I wish you could see my prototype.” _

_ pro...to...type? _

_ please no _

_ “It’s not as...well, not as conservative as yours. _

_ “Too bad you had to involve Pepper in this -I would have preferred that she lived.” _

_ shit fuck you bastard you do not touch Pepper _

 

“To be perfectly honest with you, I kind of want to cry,” Clint remarked absently, kicking away a creepy claw-like tool and determinedly ignoring the lurch of visceral, gut-wrenching  _ fear _ that slammed into his psyche.

“To be perfectly honest with  _ you _ , I really fucking agree,” Natasha nodded fervently, glad that someone else could feel the dense, cloying feeling of  _ down _ saturating the air.

“It’s just like,” Clint licked his lips, a deep furrow between his eyebrows. “ _ Thick _ , y’feel me? Like.” He paused, sucking in a wavering breath before powering on. “I almost feel like I’ll never be happy again?”

“...Yeah,” Natasha nodded, shuddering. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest despite the heat, shoulders hunched protectively up to her ears.

 

“We are  _ inside _ his fucking  _ head _ ,” Clint yelled, hurling the cup against the wall, watching with a sort of primal satisfaction as it shattered. “What the  _ fuck _ , how have we never noticed before?”

“He’s...pretty private, for such a public figure,” Natasha said slowly, watching water drip down the too-modern steel and glass panel. “There’s...a lot about him we don’t know, probably. It. It is a wonder he’s still alive, though.”

“It’s not very polite to break things in other people’s homes, you know.”

Both Avengers spun, each pointing several sharp things at the speaker.

He lifted an elegant eyebrow, hands folded primly behind his back. “If I may help you, Sir, Madam?”

“You’re...Jarvis?” Natasha cocked her head to the side, regarding him curiously. “The original Jarvis.”

“Edwin Jarvis, at your service, ma’am,” he bowed shallowly, not removing his gaze from either of them. “However, neither of you should be here. Sir would be…” he grimaced, “displeased. If he knew of your presence here.”

“You mean in his mind, or in his house?” Clint asked, blunt as always. “Didn’t this place get blown up, anyway?”

“Quite,” Jarvis nodded, motioning to the large windows that were set high above a brilliant ocean setting. Helicopters hovered menacingly, rotors completely still. It was like a breath of time, everything on pause for just an eternal second. “And the answer is the former, to be sure. No one is welcome here.”

“We’d love to get home,” Natasha told him, eyes darting only briefly to the helicopters. “But we don’t know how.”

 

_ “This is why people don’t like you.” _

_ yes thank you I know, you’re very fucking helpful _

 

Jarvis winced slightly, glancing upwards. “He’s usually not like this,” he said.

“Oh, but he usually does talk to himself?” Clint asked, then wheezed when Natasha elbowed him firmly in the stomach.

“Of course,” Jarvis nodded, completely serious. “Sir is absolutely brilliant -there is usually a complete conversation going on around us; he is usually much better at ignoring all of the hurts. There should be data streaming all around us, being sorted, catalogued -this, this  _ nothing _ is completely wrong.”

“So he’s not usually this depressed?” Natasha asked, feeling something like relief.

Jarvis gave her a wry look, one eyebrow arched. “Did I say that, Miss Romanov? I believe you are putting words in my mouth.”

“...Ah,” she swallowed, glancing at the looming helicopters once again. “Do you, do you know how we can get out of this mess?”

“I...do not,” he shook his head, looking genuinely regretful. “I’m...more or less just a thought, if I must say. There’s not a whole lot I can do. However,” he peered at them both, frowning thoughtfully. “Since none of us know how to get you out, would you perhaps consider trying to find Master Stark? He’s usually wandering around here, but I just,” Jarvis grimaced. “I can’t seem to find him.”

“...Of course,” Natasha nodded carefully, gently shepherding Clint away from the table. “We’re just going to...collect a few things for our trip, and then we’ll be right on our way. Okay?”

Jarvis smiled pleasantly, turning to peer at the fragments of broken cup.

 

_ HOWARD AND MARIA STARK DIE IN CAR ACCIDENT ON LONG ISLAND _

_ Thousands to Attend Funeral for Founder and President of Stark Industries _

 

_...Jarvis…? _

_...oh. I’ll miss you. _

 

“Well that was weird as  _ fuck _ ,” Clint hissed, frowning at Natasha.

“What, you mean that Stark has some incarnation of his childhood butler floating around in his headspace?” Natasha asked harshly, hitching the hastily cobbled together sling into a better position on her shoulders. “I’m just hoping to not run into the elder Mister Stark -I may just punch that motherfucker in the face.”

“...Yes, okay, I would too,” Clint nodded in agreement, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Just, shit. I was not expecting to run into anyone else who could be a human being. Y’know?”

“Especially one who’s so…” she wobbled her hand back and forth, grimacing faintly. “Why do  _ you _ think he’s even here?”

“Same reason all his other robot helpers are here, probably,” Clint replied, referring to the pair of twitching and semi-broken robot arms, both still dripping and reeking of seawater, that were lurking silently a few dunes over.

“...Maybe,” Natasha hummed, shading her face from the bright haze of the sky. “Well...maybe.”

 

Clint suddenly yelped, falling face-first into the sand. He quickly flipped around, pulling his feet closer to his body, and popped upright.

“Holy…” he stared at the singed silver faceplate that he’d tripped over, flexing his fingers in want of his bow to work some of the  _ terrorfurygrief _ twanging through him.

“...Shit,” Natasha finished, turning him to stare out over the field of utter  _ destruction _ that littered the hot sand.

“...What the fuck,” Clint stared in utter shock, unable to comprehend the utter decimation that stretched as far as the eye could see. “This is...this is when that thing with what’s-his-face happened. Where Pepper got all fire-breath-y.”

Natasha nodded slowly, tapping the faceplate and watching it slide gently down the hill. “Extremis.”

“Yeah, that,” Clint nodded, a furrow between his brows.

Bits and pieces of Iron Man armors were strewn across the sand everywhere around them, fragments of infrastructure and remains of delicate wiring thrown about like tinsel on a Christmas tree.

“Jesus, this must have been fucking…” Clint knuckled his sternum, swallowing thickly. “Fucking  _ devastating _ .”

“I can taste it in the air, almost,” Natasha said, licking her lips like she could wipe the taste away. “Its. Yeah. It definitely hurt. A lot.”

“You think Pepper knows?” Clint asked, glancing at Natasha.

“I...I really don’t think even he knows,” Natasha replied quietly, head bowed against the ever-fiercer heat of the sun.

 

_ “We’re...working, on it.” _

_ oh, Pepper, Pepper-Pott, you deserve so much better than I can ever ever give you _

_ I don’t know why you’re still here… _

 

Clint slowly blinked his way back into consciousness, groaning faintly. “Oh, shit, the fuck was that…?”

“You really, really need to stop grabbing shiny things, you fucking magpie  _ idiot _ ,” Natasha told him, her voice harsh to suppress her fear. “Especially here. One day it’s gonna be an  _ actual _ bomb and then you’re gonna blow your fucking  _ face off _ or something.”

“...Sorry, Tash,” Clint looked away, slowly sitting up. “It, I…” He opened his palm to frown at the pair of gleaming silver cufflinks resting there, perfectly innocuous except for the ‘OS’ engraved around a triplet of large, perfect diamonds, three in each piece -and the lingering stench of burning cotton, sickness, and blood.

Suddenly overcome with a wave of revulsion, Clint lept to his feet and chucked the jewelry as far away as he could. They quickly vanished out of sight, and Clint sank back to sit beside Natasha in the vague shade of the little cabana she had erected with a spare tablecloth and their shovels.

“...Fuck, man…” Clint sighed, dropping his head into his hands. He was desperate to forget the pure  _ anguishterrorangerbetrayalwhywhYWHY _ that had flooded into his head at the first brush of his fingers against the polished silver.


	2. Chapter 2

_...maybe not dead…? _

_ who...is that, who is that, who is that… _

_ i...i think i recognize that, those voices, maybe, maybe _

_ who would bother looking for  _ me _ though? _

~/\~

“You think Cap knows Tony drools over his shield?” Clint asked, somewhat bitterly, flipping the thing over and over in his hands. He could use it, if only it weren’t for the heart-wrenching feeling of  _ inferiorityrespectohgodicanneverliveuptoyou _ that permeated the vibranium.

“Everyone knows Tony drools over Cap’s shield,” Natasha swatted at his hands to make him put it down, absolutely careful not to touch any part of the shield with her bare skin.

“Sad-boner,” Clint added, watching the disk roll crookedly away down the dune like a partially flat tire.

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Natasha groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Why, why are we friends?”

“My charming personality?” Clint asked innocently, his grin looking more like a pained grimace. “Witty sense of humor? Great ass?”

She sighed, trying not to be amused, and turned away. “Apparently even Tony likes your dumb ass,” Natasha told him, breathing in what felt like her first full breath of air in days. “Air feels better. Lighter.”

“Soooo, you want me I should keep going with the dumb jokes?” Clint asked, arching an eyebrow at her over the tops of his sunglasses.

“That is  _ not _ what I said,” Natasha retorted, not slowing down.

“That is what I understood of what you said,” Clint scoffed, hands on his hips. “My jokes are great. Excellent, in fact. Hey, I even made Bruce laugh that one time, and he’s like a sad scruffy puppy that gets kicked a lot!”

Natasha snorted at that, rubbing a hand against her lower face as if that would smooth out her smile before Clint could notice it. “He was laughing at your utter gracelessness, Hawk _ guy _ , not your joke.”

“I am the joke,” Clint told her firmly, because it was either laugh or cry about the fact that everyone he knew considered him to be a human disaster.

She lightly punched his shoulder, smiling faintly. “My favorite joke though, you loser.”

“And you’re my favorite assassin, but don’t tell Coulson,” Clint nudged her back, a small, amused wrinkle on his nose.

Natasha mimed zipping her lips shut, already feeling her chest compress under the weight of the maudlin sky.

 

_ “I...just wanted him...to be  _ proud _ of me.” _

_ “I didn’t know your father, but one thing I know  _ about _ him is he wasn’t a stupid man -and only a  _ fool _ could  _ fail _ to be proud of you.” _

_ oh, I was the ultimate disappointment, wasn’t I _

_ dear ol’ Dad would be rolling in his god-damn grave if he could see me now _

_ always depending on him for fucking everything _

_ even today, I guess… _

 

Natasha slapped Clint’s hands away from the hammer and table before he could even get near it, knowing full-well what would happen. “No, no, no, I really really do not feel like dealing with insecurity issues right now, okay, I am tired, and hungry, and done, and  _ no _ .”

“...Okay then,” Clint muttered, lips pursed as he looked her over. “Let’s, ah. Let’s find a place to rest for a little while, how about-?”

“No!” Natasha exclaimed heatedly, then looked surprised at herself, hand pressed to her mouth. “Sorry. You’re right, we should get out of the sun. I don’t know what came over me.”

“...I think I do,” Clint edged her away from the familiar silver faceplate that had been unearthed beneath her feet. “I think we’re starting to...lose our immunity to this place, almost, I guess.”

“Well, fuck…” Natasha scrubbed a hand down her face, kicking idly at the sand.

 

_ “He’s like a...fungus.” _

_ oh, well, that’s kinda rude _

_ “Obnoxious and persistent, you know?” _

_ oh, really, Clint, tell me what you really think _

_ not like I didn’t know that  _ everyone _ didn’t already think that about me, but hey, some double confirmation is always nice _

 

“Wh-what the hell?” Clint exclaimed, staring up at the jet black sky like it had personally betrayed him. “Y’know, if you’re gonna listen to a conversation, at least listen to the whole goddamn thing! I said you were growing on me! I don’t let just  _ anyone _ touch my bow!”

“...Yeah, I know,” Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily. “God, Tony, Tony Tony  _ Tony _ . When we get out of here, I’m gonna...fuck, something.”

“I, personally, am going to sit on him until he realizes that no, we don’t actually hate him,” Clint said, scowling angrily. He kicked one of the thousands of tumblers lying in the sand, watching it sail away. “Gonna have the good Captain there too -y’know what, just. All-Avengers cuddle pile, on the Stark. Because  _ fuck _ , man, he needs some hugs.”

 

“...Pretty, I suppose,” Natasha remarked, cocking her head to the side to regard the car-sized Chitauri mothership, covered in blinking lights reflecting against the glittering midnight-colored sand. “In a grim, depressing sort of way. Y’know?”

“Quite,” Clint agreed, swallowing against the pit of utter loneliness that seemed to well up from the deepest point in his chest.

The air around them, even, had gone darkish, making the space-colored sand seem almost to glow.

Clint groped for Natasha’s hand, winding his fingers securely between hers. Where in any other instance she would have protested -fighting with only one hand was damn inconvenient, though not impossible- she gripped right back hard enough to ache.

“Let’s keep moving,” Natasha suggested, flexing her hands.

Bones creaking but utterly uncaring, Clint nodded swiftly. “My chest hurts from all this...this.”

“Yeah,” she agreed faintly, tugging him onwards. “It’s...something, is what it is.”

 

Clint picked it up before Natasha could stop him, hands wrapping around the solid gold body of the staff. It felt like ice beneath his fingers, frost wrapping around his veins. The air around them seemed to go blue, too thick to breathe in.

Natasha’s breath fogged -Clint’s would have too if he’d remained breathing at all.

“Shit,” she mumbled, eyeing him carefully. “Clint…?”

He slowly creaked around to stare unblinkingly at her, eyes wide and unseeing -but still his comfortingly familiar grey-blue-green.

Reaching out, she intended to rip the scepter from his hands-

 

_ it is far too bright and the air tastes much too clean, even with the taste of coconut always in my mouth _

_ Who- oh, Jolly Green Giant _

_ “An intelligence organization that fears intelligence? Historically, not possible.” _

_ jesus, I really am a cocky bastard, aren’t I  _ **_shameshameshame_ **

_ fuck, god I was such a fucking asshole, no wonder no one likes me _

_ “Not of use” for fuck’s sake someone needs to punch me in the face whenever I talk _

_ worked well enough when I was little, didn’t it  _ **_blackeyesmissingteethandbruisesstem-to-stern_ **

_ -“Big man in a suit of armor -take that away and what are you?” _

_ so, so fucking lonely and so, so fucking dumb _

_ “Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist.” _

_ -“Y’know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.” _

_...harsh, much? I mean I know I obviously deserve it, I’ve got so much fucking blood on my hands that I may as well be swimming in it, but…  _ **_angerguiltshamepain_ **

_ “A hero? Like  _ you _? You’re a lab rat, Rogers -everything special about you came out of a bottle!” _

_ stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid yes  _ great _ plan let’s just insult our childhood idol _

_ fuck, no one can ever live up to expectations, can they _

**_panicpainconfusioncan’tbreathecan’tBREATHE-_ **

_ -“Put on the suit.” _

**_pain-you-can-do-this-so-will-I_ **

 

Natasha jerked back, feeling as though a layer of skin remained behind on the frost-rimed scepter. She sucked in ragged breaths, whole body trembling. “Sh-shit,” she wheezed.

Still firmly gripping the staff with both hands, Clint released a small, agonized whine. Tears were crystallizing on his face, freezing before they could fall.

“Fuck,” Natasha snarled, slinging the pack off of her shoulders and slamming full-board into Clint. They both went tumbling into the sand, the scepter dropping and rolling away. The sand around it frosted over immediately, turning slick and dark and dangerous.

Groaning, Clint shifted awkwardly under her. “Nat…”

“Right, right here,” she said soothingly, adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Right here, Barton, okay, you hear me?”

“Cold, Nat,” he mumbled, shivering violently. “Why’s so cold?”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Natasha soothed, forcing herself to remain as calm as she was able. “Shh, Barton, Clint,  _ Clint _ -”

He mumbled weakly, and faded to glittery nothing in her arms.

“...Clint,” Natasha sat back, pressing her hands to her mouth and forced herself not to scream. “Fuck.  _ Fuck _ .” Her head dropped between her knees, gritty with sand, and gripped the hair tightly at the base of her skull.

 

_ it’s so lonely, here _

_ I’m so tired _

_ so so fucking tired _

_ I want to sleep _

_ I miss Jarvis _

_ I miss my mom _

_ I wish I didn’t have to pay for people to like me _

 

“Oh, Tony,” Natasha sighed faintly, staring up at the glittering Stark Tower -the one single ‘A’ hanging crookedly proud. “We really do not appreciate you, do we.” She pushed open the revolving door to the tower, wrinkling her nose against the too-clean scent of the glistening lobby.

The smell was like lemons and broken glass -almost too sharp, overwhelming every other scent.

Thick boot heels thudding across the eerily silent lobby, Natasha swallowed, then cleared her throat.

“ _ Miss Romanov _ .”

She stiffened, one hand on the panel to open the elevator. “Jar...vis?”

“ _ It’s a pleasure to see you here, Miss Romanov _ ,” the AI replied, sounding oddly relieved. The elevator doors slid open, and Natasha retracted her hand. “ _ Welcome home. _ ”

“...Right,” she chewed her lip, debating the intelligence of getting into the elevator. “Were you expecting me?”

“ _ I saw you just a little while ago, Miss _ ,” he responded, closing the doors behind her. “ _ You had Agent Barton with you at the time, however -where has he gone? _ ”

“I...don’t really know, J,” Natasha sighed faintly, shaking her head. “We. Well.”

“... _ Ah _ ,” JARVIS sounded regretful, and remained silent until they reached the topmost floor. “ _ Penthouse, Miss Romanov. _ ”

“I’ve told you, it’s Natasha,” she said softly, stepping into the penthouse -and gagging on the razor-sharp smells of lemon cleaner and blood. “JARVIS, what- god, open a window or something, what  _ is _ that?”

The windows clicked silently open and the indoor fans kicked on to high, a light breeze stirring Natasha’s sweat-matted hair.

“ _ What do you mean? _ ”

“That, I know you have smell...whatevers,” Natasha flapped a hand, walking cautiously up the steps into the main area of the penthouse living room. “What’s with the-”

She stopped dead, staring at the pile of blood-soaked uniforms and machinery parts dropped in the middle of the floor, between the couches and the television. “Oh,” Natasha said quietly, shoulders hunching protectively. “JARVIS…”

“ _ Yes, Miss Romanov? _ ”

“Do...do  _ you _ know why there is a pile of...this,” she waved expansively, indicating the entire mess. “In the. In here?”

“ _ I am never able to fully explain all that Master Stark does, _ ” the AI replied gently, the room darkening a shade to obscure the uniforms from view. “ _ Only that he feels incredibly guilty whenever something that he has designed has gone awry, or failed. _ ”

“...Ah,” Natasha sighed, wrapping her arms around herself and looking away, out the windows to the gleaming New York night sky. “You. You know an awful lot, for being a figment of Tony’s imagination.”

“ _ I only wish it were so simple, my dear _ ,” JARVIS hummed, sounding genuinely regretful. “ _ It would be a lot easier to excuse my presence, as it were, if I were only that. _ ”

Swallowing, Natasha turned resolutely away, putting her back to the windows and sickly stench of blood. “Anyway. Sinks work, J?”

In answer, the faucet at the bar turned on, running blood red for a moment before moving to crystal clear.

“...Ha,” Natasha shook her head, scrubbing a hand down her face.

 

“ _ Miss Romanov. Natasha. _ ”

“...Yeah?” Natasha paused in the doorway, head lowered against the too-harsh light.

“ _ Find Master Stark quickly, please. Things are...not right, without him wandering around and being loud. _ ”

“Of course I will,” Natasha glanced back, a small smile on her lips. “He’s my friend too, you know.”

The silence afterwards was relieved, and she slipped out into the sand.


	3. Chapter 3

_ so very cold… _

_ god, I’m going to die here aren’t I _

_ please just stop that talking, please, I can’t take it _

_ fucking tease, why are you doing this to me, of fucking course you would use Pepper _

_ -Nat too, too cruel _

~/\~

Natasha could feel the desolation soaking in the air, now, so much stronger than it used to be. Her chest ached with how thick the air seemed; heavy in her mouth and on her lungs.

She sighed, glancing up at the sombre black sky. “Oh, Tony…”

 

She couldn’t help but smile vaguely at the rough robotic dog traipsing aimlessly through the sand, antenna-tail wagging eagerly.

“Hey, boy,” Natasha said, crouching down to the machine that raced up to her, making a loud, eager sound. She gently booped it’s light-up nose, and shivered at the rush of  _ pride _ that washed through her. “You’re a, you’re a good thing, aren’t you.”

It barked, more or less, spinning in a circle on its mismatched wheels.

Firmly ignoring the spark of  _ angerdepression _ **_loneliness_ ** , Natasha snapped her fingers at the dog and whistled. “C’mon, Sparky. You can keep me company in this wasteland.”

 

_ “What the- what the hell is this?” _

_ fuck, shit, he wasn’t supposed to find him yet- _

_ “This is pathetic, honestly, Anthony, what were you thinking?” _

_ -I-  _ **_guilt_ **

_ “Did you -what, did you make yourself a stupid pet because you were  _ sad _?” _

_ -wait, don’t- _

_ “Starks have spines of steel, boy. We don’t get  _ lonely _.” _

_ -where are you taking him- _

_ “Fucking pathetic-” _

_ -...why…?- _

 

“Oh jesus,” Natasha slapped a hand over her mouth at the sight of the twisted, mangled car, rendered in full technicolor glory on a patch of concrete before her. “Fuck  _ me _ , that’s intense-”

 

_ Jarvis Jarvis Jarvis no _

_ someone please say it’s not true please- _

_ -but no more dad _

_ but mom- _

_ -but dad is gone _

_ but Jarvis ( _ **_young master Stark it is time for tea_ ** _ )- _

_ -still got Obie _

_ what’s gonna happen to me- _

_ -you’re gonna grow the fuck up is what you’re gonna do _

_ I’m not ready for that- _

_ the company- _

_ -god  _ fuck  _ the company it’s all dad ever talked about anyway _

_ -you weren’t important, remember, you’re never important _

_ but Jarvis said- _

_ -but Jarvis is dead now _

_ shut up- _

_ -they’re  _ all  _ dead now _

_ shut  _ up _ - _

 

Natasha tumbled down the hill as her legs gave out completely under her. She lay flopped at the bottom of the dune, breathing hard and tasting dust. “Oh, fuck  _ me _ ,” she wheezed, groaning as she flipped onto her back. Something slid down the dune next to her, barking and crackling.

“Hey, Sparks,” she said, reaching out to touch its nose for the comforting bubble of pride and affection. Sighing in relief, she sat carefully up and dug her knuckles into her lower back and groaned.

The dog attempted to roll up the hill but slid in the sand, its wheels burying in the sand. Whining, it skidded down to bump into Natasha’s back.

Chuckling, Natasha climbed laboriously to her feet and tucked the odd mechanical creature under her arm. She shaded her eyes and squinted up the seemingly never-ending hill, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head in disgust. Hiking the dog into a more comfortable position under her arm, Natasha began the long trek back up the dune.

 

“Well fuck me,” Natasha blurted, eyebrows nearly reaching her hairline.

The dog coughed, limbs jerking as it twisted to give her a scandalized look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Natasha scolded, holding it out in front of her to frown. “I coulda left you behind, you spoiled little creature.”

It’s wire tail wagged and it cocked its head to the side, glass eyes glinting in the sunlight.

“Shut up,” Natasha tucked the dog back under her arm and trudged up to the imposing mansion she’d only ever seen in pictures. She stepped nimbly over the glass bottles littering the deep emerald grass lawn, her makeshift pack balanced awkwardly across her shoulders.

Turning to the door after skipping sideways up the steps, she stopped dead.

“Miss Romanov,” Jarvis said, looking young and tall and utterly, utterly worried. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Uh,” she blinked. “Hi…?”

“Come in, come in,” Jarvis ushered her inside, closing the door behind her with an eerily final click.

In Natasha’s arms, the mechanical dog wriggled, wanting to be put down.

She hesitantly set him on the cold marble floor, watching him whizz around with a small, fond smile.

Jarvis cleared his throat meaningfully, arching his eyebrows to direct her down a brightly-lit hallway that turned into a warm, expansive kitchen. He nodded her into a chair, swiftly pouring a glass of water and setting it before her.

“Um,” Natasha blinked at him, arching a curious eyebrow. “You’re...connected, or whatever, to the other Jarvis’s that we- I’ve seen?”

“I  _ am _ them, my dear,” Jarvis corrected, neatly folding his hands and resting his hip against the solid wooden table. “One and the same, really.” He frowned briefly, then shrugged. “I have many domains; all interconnected but all separate. You haven’t even seen the half of them, Miss Romanov.”

“Natasha,” she corrected automatically, sipping her water automatically. “Anyway. You...haven’t really talked to me before this.”

“Apologies,” Jarvis ducked his head, lifting a hand to scrub through his hair, oddly reminiscent of Tony, and Natasha had to bite back a small smile. “I’ve been...preoccupied, attempting to find Sir.”

“He’s here?” Natasha sat up with a jerk, setting the glass down none-too-gently. “Have you found him? Where is he?”

“Very deep, very deep,” Jarvis chewed his lip, thumb pressing against the underside of his jaw. “Deep and dark; he’s not going to last long. The first time through nearly broke him -he was only saved by having someone else to prop him up…”

“Where  _ is _ he?” Natasha snarled, leaning forward and glaring darkly. “Tell me!”

“You know where,” Jarvis told her flatly, hands slipping down to settle at his sides. “Where the darkest demons of his mind lurk.”

“...Oh,” Natasha collapsed backwards, spine thumping against the back of the chair. “Oh, of course…”


	4. Chapter 4

_ smells like old and death, of course it does _

_ damp and gunpowder, sparks and steel, and oh god I am going to die down here I  _ know _ it _

_ cold and always alone, god, it’s so dark, it’s always been dark _

_ please save me, god, I don’t think I can go any longer- _

_ -please be quiet, please- _

~/\~

Swallowing, Natasha stared into the gaping maw set deep into the scorched stone hill.

She was sweating with the sweltering pressure - _ lonelinesspainangerterror _ \- resting like a bloated carcass in the air, collapsing her lungs, the blood in her veins going ice-cold and sun-hot with every twitch of her fingers.

Soft, broken crying echoed from the dark cave.

Natasha dropped her pack on the sand with a hollow-sounding thump, quickly following it to her knees. She riffled through it, throwing everything out onto the sand around her, uncaring as to where anything landed. Hefting a heavy black flashlight in a shaking hand, she glanced at the cave and snatched up a long-bladed trench shovel.

Taking a deep breath, she shoved away all of the  _ everything _ , steeling herself down to her very soul. She quietly retreated to that place from her childhood in her mind, and everything went faintly grey around the edges.

She clicked on the flashlight, the beam almost immediately consumed by the dark, and headed in.

 

Resting immediately in the entrance to the cave was a man in a grungy white button-up shirt, leaning against a pile of sandbags, appearing oddly saint-like. His shirt was full of holes and soaked through with blood, his smudged glasses sitting faintly askew on his nose.

_ Yinsen _ , Natasha thought, glancing around. The walls were scorched black, with deep gouges, like something too-large and exceptionally unwieldy had tromped through.

It opened up into two tunnels, only one of which carried the scorching and gouge marks that told Natasha her path.

She tightened her grip on the flashlight, the shovel swung securely onto her shoulder.

The ceiling of the cave glittered with unfamiliar constellations and deep purple nebulae -looking at it made Natasha feel like she were falling upwards, eternity yawning around her.

There was a sound like machine gun fire and she jolted, coming back to herself and hurrying forward.

Dark things scurried in the shadows, always only just out of sight.

_ failure failure failure _ they taunted at the edge of her hearing.

_ c’mon give up already _ they teased.

_ he doesn’t even want to be rescued anyway _

“Quiet!” Natasha snapped, eyes narrowing. “I’m not listening to you! Get out of my way! I’m going to rescue Tony whether he likes it or not!”

The shadows tittered mockingly, one briefly clarifying into a dull-eyed redheaded child that she dimly recognized as herself.

_ weak _ they declared, voices echoing together.

_ all of you, weak, so weak, thinking you can drag him out of here _

_ he  _ likes _ it with us, he belongs with us, c’mon  _ Natalia _ you know it’s true _ they purred

Gritting her teeth, Natasha pressed on, the flashlight held unwaveringly before her.

 

There is always the constant chatter of machine-gun fire in the air -formless bullets ricochet off the stone walls, and ping off the memory of a giant suit of blackened steel.

There is the echo of soundless screams and shouts in a language Natasha doesn’t speak, that press against her skin with the unmistakeable taste of fear. Flames roar at the edge of her hearing, just under the insidious whispers that tell her her friend’s nightmares.

“Just a little longer,” Natasha murmured, her shovel gripped tightly at her side. “Just a little longer, Tony.”

 

The tunnel ended through blasted-apart steel doors, and the dark creatures lurked as darker shapes in the jet-black background.

Hot red and gold light flickered weakly through the gap, slowly being smothered by the all-consuming melancholy.

A small, muffled mumble sounded from within- “please, please, please…stop…”

The ember of anger that had been smouldering in Natasha’s chest, nearly smothered now by the despondency practically dripping from the cave walls, flared suddenly into a bonfire of all-encompassing rage.

“Tony!” she yelled, the metal body of the flashlight contorting in her hand, the artificial light blinking out. Natasha threw it away in disgust, striding arrogantly forward. She thinks idly of the small mechanical dog created by a lonely, ostracized boy, and the lonely, ostracized man that boy had grown into, and her anger grows.

A single car battery sits innocuously beside a low barrel of filthy, brackish water.

The shadows tittered anxiously around her, darting, panicked, trying to escape her wrath.

The cave is no longer dark, but lit up brilliantly -Natasha glowed, her skin shining a brilliant gold.

Only one shape never moved in the dark -a massive beast made of metal, hope, and desperation, hanging by the shoulders.

The shadows screamed, darting towards her but dissipating before they could ever reach her.

Stalking up to the machine that she had only ever heard of, Natasha rested a palm lightly on the chest of the Iron Man, Mark I. “Hey Tony,” she said softly, rapping her knuckles lightly against the helmet. “It’s me, Natasha.”

“...Nat?” the head lifted slightly, weakly. “Really you?”

“Yeah,” she said, “it’s really me this time.”

“Said that last time,” the Iron Man drooped again, and Tony’s laboured breathing could be heard inside. The arc reactor was a dim white, and was quickly growing dimmer.

“I’m going to fucking destroy that damn magician idiot that did this to you,” Natasha decided, sounding remarkably calm for the amount of pure fury that was raging in her.

Tony gave a tired, bitter laugh.

The steel under Natasha’s palm began to bend inward, and she jerked back.

The shadows instantly leapt forward at her flash of fear, and Natasha spun, holding the shovel out threateningly.

“Honestly,” the shadows purred, pulling together into a moderately solid shape. It flicked between faces faster than Natasha could consciously parse. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“Fuck off,” Natasha said flatly, back pressed against the armour. “You’re not real.”

“Everyone’s demons are real to them,” the thing sniffed, flashing between bloodied corpses and a man that Natasha now knew deserved a much slower and painful death than the one he had been given.

“I will destroy you,” Natasha growled.

“Can’t destroy something that doesn’t belong to you,” they waved a mangled hand, flawless nails flickering in the light reflected off her body.

“Maybe not, but I can protect him from you,” Natasha snarled, throwing the shovel and spinning to yank the helm right off of Tony’s head.

He squinted at her, eyes red and face puffy. “Nat?”

“How are you going to protect him?” the shadow hissed, coalescing right behind her. “How are you going to protect him from his own mind?” It leered over her, Tony staring up at it with an expression of utter desolation.

“The way a friend should,” Natasha said, gently guiding Tony’s face back down to look at her. “You are my friend, Tony. One of my very best friends.”

He blinked at her, eyes wide. “I...am?”

“Of course you are,” Natasha smiled faintly. “I’m...not very good at being a friend,” she told him softly, fingers hooked on the neckguard of the armour as she slowly peeled it away. “I’m too used to keeping myself secret, and digging around to find other people’s. I’m awkward, and not good at making other people feel better.” She tugged off the breastplate, revealing a wrinkled black band t-shirt. “Clint says I’m about as personable as a feral cat. I mean, I call him a dopey dog in return, but,” she shrugged, pushing the arms of the suit to the ground with a resonant clang.

Tony gave her a weak little smile, fingers flexing.

They both ignored the creature screaming in the background, flashing from corpse to corpse to bloody corpse, trying to shove forward and wrap itself around them.

“I’m not very practiced at the whole ‘friends’ thing,” Natasha said, kicking away the scrap metal and pulling Tony down off the platform, wrapping him in a tight hug. “But I’d like to get better at it. With you.”

“I’m not very good at the whole ‘friends’ thing either,” Tony said softly, face tucked into her neck, despite the awkward bend. “I’ve invented more friends than I’ve ever been able to make. People don’t like me, Natasha. Even you said I was a narcissistic asshole. Captain America thinks I’m trash.”

“Oh, Tony,” she clutched him closer, eyes closing. “I’m so sorry for never trying to see behind your mask, I am so sorry for ignoring how you were hurting.”

The creature’s screams grew even higher in pitch, whirling around them and slamming into the cave walls. Pockets of starlight began to peep through cracks in the stone.

“Captain America’s opinion doesn’t matter squat,” Natasha told him, gently petting his head. “And Steve Rogers has no right to say anything -he’s trash too. Swears like a sailor and eats like a pig, honestly, it’s disgusting.”

Tony chuckled wetly, arms wrapping tighter around Natasha’s waist. “I don’t want to be alone again,” he said quietly a moment later, face pressed firmly into her neck. “It’s always so lonely.”

“You will never be alone,” Natasha said fiercely, gripping him tightly. “I will die before I let you be alone again, alright? You’re my friend, Tony.”

There is a massive bellowing noise, the cave blowing apart around them.

“You,” the creature hissed, gesturing violently at the assassin. “You, _you_!”

“Me,” she agreed softly, staring intently at the beast. “I told you I protect my friends.”

And it faded away, leaving them standing in a field of stars.


	5. Chapter 5

Sniffling softly, Tony attempted to shuffle back, scrubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. “Natasha.”

“Tony,” she replied, keeping a hand clasped in his. “I’m not joking.”

“I- yeah,” he laughed wetly, but it wasn’t a bad sound this time. “I guess not, huh. I just. It’s gonna take a bit for that to sink in.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” she told him, sighing contentedly, and finally glancing around.

There was a hard surface under their feet, reflecting the familiar stars above.

“Where are we?” Tony asks, glancing upwards at stars he only faintly recognizes.

“Safe,” she said softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “We are safe.” Natasha took a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out slowly. “You know,” she said, tugging on his hand and starting to walk. “Y’know I don’t like you for your money, or your genius, or your company -I like you because you’re _you_ -you, the dork who can’t function before he’s had at least half a pot of coffee. I like you because of the way you’re so stupidly generous that you can’t even function with it. I like you because of the way you are always so attentive to everyone else’s needs -I don’t like, though, when you put everyone else above yourself,” she said softly, glancing down at her booted feet. She still was wearing her pants as sleeves, and couldn’t help the tiny smile at the way the too-long ends flopped over both their hands.

Tony swallowed awkwardly. “Confess your undying love for me, why don’t you,” he tried, but his voice cracked halfway through and he had to clear his throat to continue.

Natasha arched an eyebrow at him.

He smiled weakly, shrugging. “I told you I don’t do feelings well.”

“I don’t know if I love you yet,” she said, “but I know that it will be very easy once I do. I’ll always be your friend, Tony, even if you’re a dumbass.”

“When,” he corrected softly, glancing at the ground and marveling faintly at the contented twinkle of the stars around them. “When I’m a dumbass -I’m Tony Stark, it’s a given.”

“I’m friends with Clint, aren’t I?” she smiled, and tugged on his hand to gently bump into him. “He’s the biggest goof I know.”

The ground was slowly starting to grow lighter, the twinkling stars fading together.

“He doesn’t fuck up on the scale I always seem to,” Tony reminded her.

She shrugged, releasing his hand to wrap her arm around his waist. “That’s only because he loves on a smaller scale than you do. Did you know that one time he managed to fuck up so badly on a fishing simulator that he somehow managed to fall out of a plane, run out of health, and get the army after him? In a _fishing simulator_ of all things.”

Tony chuckled, using his free hand to scrub his eyes. “That does seem like our Hawkeye at his best.”

“Yeah,” Natasha smiled fondly. “And he’s your friend too, Tony. We’d all of us like to be -all of the Avengers. And yes, even Steve.”

“...Oh,” he said quietly, glancing briefly at her out of the corner of his eye. “Well I. I suppose that doesn’t sound too terrible.”

She laughed, squeezing him tightly, just before the light became too bright. “Yeah, not too terrible at all.”

 

 

_ “Tony-? Oh, thank god- Bruce!” _

_ “He’s coming up-? Someone get Pepper!” _

_ “Natasha is too!” _

_ “Thank fuck-” _

~/\~

“...Didn’t know you could grow a beard.”

“Hey, Tony,” Steve Rogers said, sounding much too relieved. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

“Mm, you’n’me both,” Tony yawned widely, reaching up to gently pat Steve’s face. “Really, that beard though.”

“Well, it’s been a stressful week,” he said, gently holding Tony’s wrist. “You’re not quite so neatly groomed either, y’know.”

“Aw, my stylist is gonna murder me,” Tony sighed, not bothering to remove his hand from Steve’s face. He was warm, if a bit bristly, and it felt nice against his palm.

“I think she’ll have a bit of a difficult time of that,” Steve said softly, shaking his head. “Clint’s been sitting guard at the bottom of yours and Nat’s beds since he woke up, for starters.”

“I...think I remember him there,” Tony said slowly, chewing on his lower lip. “A bit. His voice.”

“I…” Steve took a deep breath, eyes closing. “I’m glad you’re back, Tony.”

“Me too, Steve,” Tony said, as Pepper dashed into the hospital room, her pale face flushed with exertion and her hair all in a flyaway mess.

“Tony?” she gasped, eyes lighting up.

“Hey Pep,” he wiggled his fingers at her, tightening his grip on Steve’s hand when he attempted to let go. “Aren’t you glad I’m not dead this time?”

“Oh, I am so fucking glad,” she replied, clipping over unsteadily, and taking his free hand in both of hers. “You and I will be having a long talk about your non-existent self-preservation instincts, but for now I’m just so glad you’re not dead.” Pepper’s voice had only the faintest tremble, and her eyes were slightly damp, but her gaze was fierce.

“Of course, Miss Potts,” Tony said quietly, because he would do anything for her.

“ _ Fuck off Doctor or so help me god they will not find your pieces _ ,” came fiercely from the hallway, and the door was thrown open again, revealing Natasha standing there in all of her hospital-pajama glory, her fiery red hair a frizzy halo around her head. “Tony.”

“Nat,” he smiled at her.

“Tony,” she smiled back, leaning against the doorway in relief.

Clint nudged her into the room, picking her up bodily and setting her on the bed.

Tony still clutched at Steve and Pepper’s hands, but he said, “give us a hug?”

“Always,” Natasha said, and curled up practically on top of him, arms wrapped around him. “You’re an idiot, but you’re one of my very favorite idiots.”

True to form, Tony smiled widely at the human’s surrounding him -Bruce and Thor had followed Clint into the room, and Rhodes was yawning awake in one of the hospital chairs, one of his hands fisted tightly in the shoulder of Tony’s hospital shirt.

“We’re glad to have you back, Tony,” Bruce said, pressing a hand against Tony’s ankle through the layers of green hospital blanket.

“I’m...glad to be back,” he said, and his eyes were damp, but everyone was smiling at him, and this...could be good, really good. “I’m so glad to be back.”


	6. EPILOGUE

“What’s the pick tonight, guys?”Clint asks, diving full-board into the mass of cushions and blankets and pillows piled into the dropped-down center of the new Avengers Movie Room before anyone else.

“I haven’t seen _Big Hero 6_ yet,” Steve muses, settling down more gently in the center of the pile, and Clint army-crawls over to curl against his leg.

“That _is_ a travesty,” Bruce muses, sitting a few feet away, but still close enough to touch if anyone wanted -Natasha will likely flop into his lap and demand he braid her hair, saying he’s the only one with gentle enough fingers. “Even I’ve seen it, and I’m not exactly pop-culture literate.”

“Ooh, it’s a good one,” Pepper smiles, nudging Tony into the comfortable mess next to Steve, draping a soft red blanket over both of them.

Tony is still a little skittish about all the contact, unused to so many people _wanting_ to touch him -and more unused to having no one want anything out of it other than simple contact- so he usually ends up closer to Bruce

“It’s...yeah,” Tony agrees, tucking his knees up to his chest. “It’s very accurate about what it portrays, emotionally.”

Natasha throws a pillow, and it bounces harmlessly off of Steve’s bicep. “No spoilers!”

“I come bearing refreshments!” Thor crows, striding into the room, carrying several large bowls of popcorn, a bright orange plastic bucket balanced elegantly on his head.

Pepper takes the bucket when he crouches, pulling out a can of pepsi for herself and distributing others. She settles down on her stomach beside Bruce, pressed against him.

Steve already has Tony halfway on his lap, naturally a handsy person, and Clint wraps a hand around the mechanic’s ankle.

“Last one again, I see,” Rhodey says, shaking his head in bemusement as he drops into the pile of Avengers. “No Sam?”

“Working out the details with the DC vets office he’s coming from,” Steve says, voice faintly muffled from where he’s speaking into the back of Tony’s head. “He and Buck’ll be back tomorrow.”

The group hums, and Clint squirms a little, getting impatient. “C’mooooon, let’s start the movie! Please!”

“JARVIS, if you would,” Tony gestures to the huge white screen that is their television, which flicks on to the blue _Disney_ castle.

“ _Of course, Sir_ ,” JARVIS says, and everyone settles firmly while the room goes dark.

Pepper and Bruce and Natasha and Thor and Rhodey all edge closer to Tony and Steve, until they’re pressed into one bundle of limbs and bodies, skin against skin, all of them in their most comfortable pajamas.

Tony smiles broadly, tucking his nose into the neck of his sweatshirt -stolen from Rhodey recently enough that it still smells like him- and grips at someone’s hand. He doesn’t even really care who, just glad all the way down to his bones.


End file.
